


The Near and the Dear Ones

by corvidae (MeMeMe)



Category: In Other Lands | The Turn of the Story - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: Christmas, Family, Gift Giving, M/M, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeMeMe/pseuds/corvidae
Summary: Christmas is coming up. Elliot is probably going to have to celebrate it now that he and Luke are together. He definitely doesn't panic about this, what are you talking about.





	The Near and the Dear Ones

“Hold out your arms,” Luke said.

“What?” Elliot snapped, looking up from his book. Summer was beginning its fade into autumn, and there were fewer good reading hours, a shift in the balance that meant he’d soon be doing more cuddling in bed with his boyfriend, which would be nice, but far less work, which would be inconvenient.

“Hold out your arms,” Luke repeated. Elliot thought he detected a slight tone.

“I won’t,” Elliot said, forcing his eyes away from Luke’s shining form and back to his book about dragons. It focused on people who’d slain dragons, actually, and left a lot to be desired in terms of dragon-related facts. Luckily, Elliot could read between the lines. “How do I know you aren’t trying to trick me into exercise? You’re very devious.”

“Elliot,” Luke sighed. “You like running.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Dragons obviously understood currency, based on the metals they seemed to favor. If it was just about the shininess, they’d keep the armor from fallen soldiers, and they never did that. If only he knew more about the way they lived in their caves under the mountains. He’d really understand them, then.

“Mum wants to have a picture taken at Christmas,” Luke said.

Elliot looked up again. “Sorry, I don’t think that has anything to do with my arms.”

“She wants to have a picture taken at Christmas in _matching outfits,_ ” Luke explained. “I need to send her your measurements so she can have the clothes made.”

Elliot paused his reading, keeping his finger in the book for easy returning. He started to think he might regret introducing the concept of photography to the Borderlands. “That’s abominable.”

“Pictures. I know.” Luke shrugged gloomily. “But Mum generally gets what she wants, so will you please make this easy for me?”

It was not Elliot’s general belief that he needed to make things easier for Luke by making them harder on himself, but Luke’s beseeching blue eyes made an excellent counterpoint. Elliot resigned himself to remaining ignorant about dragons for another day, and closed his book.

He lifted his arms, but he made sure to do it in a stiff, ironic way, so Luke would know it was under protest.

Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re such a brat.” He made quick work with the measuring tape, though, and smiled a little as he scribbled his findings on his scroll.

Elliot had tried to give him a notebook, really he had. Luke had seemed bemused by it but had never actually written in it. Elliot was plotting to steal it back so he could use it himself, but kept getting sidetracked by other projects.

“Why do you have to be so tall?” Luke complained, looking critically up at Elliot.

Elliot leaned down a bit, bringing his face within centimeters of Luke’s. “Because you like it.”

Luke blushed. The elves were right. He was very pretty when he blushed. He had the complexion for it, unlike Elliot, who like many of his unfortunate colouring had a tendency toward blotchiness.

“I do,” he said. “Like it.”

Elliot put his hands on Luke’s hips, fingers brushing the feathered tips of his wings. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Luke grinned up at him, rising up on his toes to brush his lips to Elliot’s. “I’ve got to send this to my mother.”

“Tease,” Elliot laughed against his lips.

“Go back to your book,” Luke called out as he retreated.

Elliot did not go back to his book. This disturbing conversation had given him a lot to think about.

Evidently, he had to plan for Christmas.

~

“—and we’re going to have to go to his parents’ house for Christmas,” Elliot sighed.

Golden looked puzzled over his embroidery hoop. “Won’t Luke’s responsibilities keep him at the fortress?”

“No.” It wasn’t an option. He’d seen the reluctant smile on Luke’s face as he’d mentioned Rachel. Elliot might not have had a mother, and he might not celebrate Christmas, but he knew better than to want anything between Luke and his mother come late December.

“Well, I’m sure the Sunborns will be glad to see you,” Golden said mildly, pulling his needle through. “From what Serene says, it seems they are rather fond of you.”

Elliot felt a brief pang of guilt about his conflicted feelings about Christmas with the Sunborns. Serene and Golden had both received torrents of letters from their respective clans in the months since Golden had run away. They had married soon after Serene's graduation from the Border camp, which had cooled the scandal somewhat, but from context it seemed clear they would not be welcome at any elvish winter festival celebrations for quite some time. It must be difficult for Golden; elvish sons always had such close ties to their families.

“What gift will you give your beloved on the occasion?”

Elliot’s sympathy for Golden vanished. “Do you think I’ll need a gift?”

Golden gave him a look full of pity and reproach. “That is what your people do on this holiday, is it not?”

“Not _my_ people,” Elliot muttered, but Golden had a point. “Do you think Luke’s going to get me a gift? We’ve never given each other gifts before.”

“You’ve never been—” Golden used a word here Elliot was unfamiliar with; he assumed it pertained to a romantic or sexual involvement between two people, but it wasn’t the elvish word for _lover_ or for _spouse_ — “before now, correct?”

Elliot frowned. These were, he supposed, not entirely different from the circumstances under which he and Serene had first exchanged gifts. Not that he was about to mention that to her husband, with whom he was getting along so nicely.

“I think it would be unwise to skip the tradition,” Golden said. “Do you have some idea of what you’d like to give him, or—”

“Of course I do,” Elliot snarled.

~

He only lasted a few hours.

“What does Luke like?”

“It is considered polite to announce oneself when entering someone else’s home,” Serene informed him archly.

“Sorry,” Elliot said. “Hi, Serene and Golden. Can you tell me what to get my boyfriend for Christmas?”

Golden blinked up at him in puzzlement. “You are asking us what Luke likes?”

“Well, I’m mostly asking Serene, but if you have any ideas, I’ll take those too,” Elliot said, shoving his hair off his face.

“Luke is fond of archery,” Serene said loyally.

“Yeah, I’m not giving Luke instruments of death for Christmas,” Elliot dismissed. “What else?”

“He also likes Trigon, and dogs, and his father’s knitted jumpers.”

Sports were stupid, and Elliot couldn’t knit. The thought of dogs was not entirely without appeal, until Elliot came to his senses.

“Luke likes you,” Golden volunteered, very unhelpfully.

“Sure, I’ll get right on inventing human cloning so I can give him myself.” Elliot put his hands over his eyes so he could not see the elves respond to this.

It needed to be perfect, because Luke was perfect and because Luke had had many Christmases filled with gifts, and thus would have something compare it to. Elliot had given only one Christmas gift in his entire life, and it was a book. He was reasonably certain, whatever General Lakelost had to say about Luke’s supposed love of reading, that Luke would not like to receive a book.

“Elliot,” Serene said, “Christmas is still several months away. You have plenty of time to think of a gift. Or to invent human cloning, whatever that is.”

“Dearest,” Golden said delicately, laying a hand on her arm. “I do not believe this is entirely about a gift.”

“Of course it’s about a gift,” Elliot snapped.

“Whatever you say, Elliot.” Serene’s face was almost expressionless, but he caught her exchanging a glance with Golden. After the years Elliot had known her, it had become easy for him to interpret that implacable elf facade.

“You are no help,” he sighed, and left their quarters.

“It is customary to close the door behind you!” Serene called after him.

“Shan’t!” Elliot retorted, running to the fortress’s library.

~

He couldn’t ask the Sunborns for advice. Louise gave Luke weapons for every occasion, and evidently had been doing so since he was born. (“Baby’s first broadsword” was a phrase he’d heard her say, one summer at the Sunborns’.) Rachel might have had some ideas, but they were all probably mortifying. Ditto Gregory, only worse. Adam was a total nonstarter. Michael would— well, Elliot had no idea what Michael would say. Elliot could not imagine getting up the nerve to initiate that conversation with Luke’s father.

They all knew Elliot was strange and not good enough for Luke. He did not need to confirm it by displaying his utter cluelessness.

There was no one Elliot trusted at the fortress, once he’d exhausted the elves, so he wrote letters to everyone he knew outside the fortress.

 _If I were courting a young man of virtue,_ Swift answered, _I would send him pressed flowers or adornments. I hear some fast sorts are fond of poetry, but I would never dream of insulting a gentleman with too ardent words of love._

 _Something you caught or grew would be best,_ wrote Podarge. _Fresh meat shows you can provide, herbs show you can nurture. If I had an attachment as long-standing as yours, I would think about offering some of my feathers, but of course that will not be possible for you._

 _I don’t know, Elliot,_ Myra replied. _Is there any exercise equipment he’s been coveting?_

Elliot thought better of the letter he’d written to Commander Woodsinger, and tore it up. He sent in its place something nice and generic, which mentioned the treaty he’d drafted with the dryads and the mermaids in the swamps, but nothing whatsoever about what he would give his boyfriend for Christmas.

There were some boundaries even he wouldn’t cross, apparently. He should tell Luke. Only he couldn’t, because it would reveal his inadequacy re: Christmas presents. If he had any chance of keeping that a secret, he wanted to.

Elliot made sure to burn all his correspondence that month.

~

They were granted a furlough to travel to the Sunborn house at Christmas, in recognition of their impeccable service— in Luke’s case, leading a foray into brigand territory and making safe a forest that had been beset by criminal activity for years; in Elliot’s, being so goddamn irritating that Commander Lowlight couldn’t wait to be rid of him for a fortnight.

Elliot spent the entirety of the two-day journey fidgeting and feeling sick. Carriages didn’t upset his stomach the way methods of travel in his own world had done, but they took a lot longer, so he had more time to think. Sometimes thinking  _did_ upset his stomach.

He wasn’t the type to consider thinking overrated, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish he could dial it back sometimes.

Like everyone else he’d ever met, he guessed.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Luke asked, settling his palm on Elliot’s bouncing knee. It had grown cold— colder than usual— and the warmth of Luke’s touch was welcome.

“Why, don’t I seem all right?”

“Well, no,” Luke frowned. “You’ve seemed weird for days.”

Elliot bared his teeth in what he hoped was a smile. “I always seem weird, loser.”

Luke bit his lip. It almost succeeded in distracting Elliot from his misery. “Yes, but—”

 _But you’re ruining Christmas with your weirdness._ Elliot’s stomach lurched. “Stop the carriage. I’m going to be sick.”

When Elliot was through emptying his stomach into some bushes, Luke put a hand on the back of Elliot’s neck and pushed a water skin into his hands.

“Thanks,” Elliot said, cleaning his mouth and then taking a swallow. It did not immediately threaten to return, which meant he probably didn’t have a virus. He was vomiting from nerves. This was so embarrassing. No doubt Serene would have nodded with great understanding at his frail manly nature.

“Do you need to stop and rest?” Luke asked. His voice was tense and worried. “There’s an inn a little ways back. You don’t feel feverish, but if you’re ill I can send word to my parents we’ll be delayed—”

“We’re not going to be delayed,” Elliot said. He felt shaky, and let himself lean against Luke’s steady form. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

Luke rubbed his hand between Elliot’s shoulder blades. “You just threw up your breakfast. That doesn’t seem very fine.”

“It needs to be a _quiet_ minute,” Elliot murmured. “Okay?”

Luke’s grip on him tightened. “Okay.”

Luke, stupid Luke, was the cause of all his problems. But Luke, wonderful Luke, was also the only one making him feel any better about them.

“All right, let’s go.” He made sure his tone was sturdy and confident. He didn’t want to invite an argument.

Luke didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded. When they got back to the carriage, he insisted on helping Elliot into his seat. The rest of the journey, he wrapped Elliot in a wing and let him lay his head on Luke’s shoulder even though he usually complained after about an hour.

When they got to their destination, Luke took all the bags— Elliot was going to make him do that anyway, and tried not to mind that he'd only volunteered because he thought Elliot was infirm— and pushed Elliot ahead of him into the house.

“Elliot’s ill,” he told his mother, in lieu of a hello. “We’re going to lie down upstairs.”

“Oh, no,” Rachel Sunborn sighed, halting in her progress toward them to give her usual hugs and kisses. “That’s too bad.”

“I’m fine,” Elliot said, smiling apologetically. “He’s exaggerating.”

“You _threw up,_ ” Luke argued. “I don’t know why you’re being like this, you usually whine about everything.”

“I do _not,”_ Elliot groused, as he was shepherded up the stairs to Luke’s old room. But he gave up protesting after that. He may not have a sickness, but as long as they thought he did, he had the day to lie in bed curled up with Luke and not worry about Christmas with the Sunborns.

~

The next morning, though, Luke grudgingly admitted that since he had no fever and no repeat incidents of vomiting, he was probably not dying and could be permitted out of bed.

“Just tell me if you start not feeling well,” he said, looking urgently into Elliot’s eyes.

Elliot felt guilty for worrying him. He nodded, and didn’t make any of the jokes he wanted to make about how it was a good thing he couldn’t get pregnant if this is how Luke was going to be every time he got a little nauseous.

Rachel was in the dining room laying cutlery on the table, and she beamed when she saw them. “Good morning, boys! Feeling better?”

Elliot refrained from explaining, again, that he had never been ill in the first place. “Yep, good as new.”

“Glad to hear it, kid,” she said, craning up to kiss his cheek. He bent down to meet her halfway.

“We almost never get to be all together for Christmas like this,” Rachel said, as she cheerfully passed a stack of napkins to Elliot and let him help her lay places. “Usually someone’s got to be off fighting somewhere, but it’s been a quiet winter.”

Elliot had taken great pains to ensure that their quiet winter had stayed quiet. He hadn’t wanted to face a Sunborn Christmas in all its golden glory, but he hadn’t wanted Luke to miss it. He hadn’t wanted to see them, but he hadn’t wanted any of them to die.

And they hadn't. They were all here, safe and sound and dear. Michael Sunborn entered, carrying a tray of bacon, trailed by Louise with the porridge and jam.

“Little Red!” Louise trilled, rushing ahead of her father to put her tray down and thump him good-naturedly on the back. “I missed you last night. We planned quite the bonfire for your arrival.”

“Elliot was taken ill on the road,” Luke said tersely. “Getting him well-rested was more important than your party.”

It certainly put Luke’s anxiety last night in a new light to learn there had been a party to be avoided. Luke was generally honorable, but it gave Elliot some pleasure to imagine his motives last night had been tainted by self-interest.

Michael regarded him critically. “He’s looking all right now. A little pale, perhaps.”

“That’s just my face.” Elliot didn’t glare, but only because he was still a little afraid of the whole mad family. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’ll be good as new for Christmas,” Rachel soothed.

Privately, Elliot doubted that. He took his seat at the breakfast table anyway.

Luke sat next to him and reached for his hand.

Elliot considered not letting him take it— after all, it was Luke’s fault he was in the mortifying position of receiving all this attention— but in the end, the promise of physical contact with Luke won out.

“Your hand’s freezing,” Luke complained.

“Maybe that’s why I get ill so easily,” Elliot joked, but when Luke got a dark look on his face, he wished he hadn’t.

Not that Elliot needed confirmation, but he had it: he was going to ruin Christmas.

~

The first days of the trip passed not unlike Elliot’s previous visits to the Sunborn home. Between laughing with Rachel and sitting nearby while Luke and his father threw knives at a target, Elliot hid in the library whenever Christmas with the family made him too nervous. Luke usually came with him, although Elliot tried to encourage him to enjoy time with his family instead.

“Why do you keep trying to make me go away?” Luke asked, an irritable crease between his brows as he settled on the floor near Elliot’s feet. “I want to spend time with you. Why are you making that so difficult?”

“You know me,” Elliot quipped, heart sinking.  _I have a plot, and you’re ruining it_ , he didn't say.  _Or I am._ “Never making anything easy.” 

“Isn’t that the truth,” Luke grumbled, but he nudged Elliot’s knee fondly. “What are you reading?”

“Absolute twaddle, I think,” Elliot said, but he got the hint, and started reading to Luke the account of his ancestor Edwin Sunborn and the battle with the crimson drake.

~

Christmas morning dawned cold and bright. Elliot awoke, as usual, wrapped in one of Luke’s wings.

“Happy Christmas,” Luke mumbled into Elliot’s shoulder. He followed the words with a kiss to the skin bared by Elliot’s sleep shirt.

It was already the best Christmas he’d ever had. If only he didn’t have to get up and face a day full of confusing holiday traditions, he might have been able to muster up some cheer.

Luke’s hair was still gorgeously sleep-tousled when they went down to breakfast.

“Happy Christmas, darlings,” Rachel said, pressing kisses to both of their cheeks.

Luke slid his pot of jam across to Elliot.

Elliot raised his eyebrows. Maybe that was Luke’s gift: not making Elliot steal the jam like usual.

Probably not, though. Elliot would never get so lucky as to catch Luke unprepared.

“I think I’ll go for a walk with the dogs,” Elliot suggested after breakfast. “Let you guys open presents.”

Luke stared at him as if he was sprouting a third eye. “Who’ll open your presents if you’re not here?”

 _Presents_. So Luke had gotten him one after all.

The Sunborns had brought in a tree from the woods. Its height was, frankly, alarming, as were the small candles set in little holders all over it. Luke had to fly to get the star on top, and Elliot closed his eyes to keep from seeing how close his feathers came to open flame.

It was, he had to admit, rather beautiful in their hall.

“Presents!” Rachel Sunborn called cheerfully, clapping her hands. “Luke, my boy?”

“Technically Elliot’s the youngest,” Luke said, with a sly smile on his face. “He should do it.”

“Do what?” Elliot asked.

“Distribute the gifts,” Michael explained. “The youngest child in the family is meant to bring them from the tree to their recipients.”

“I’m a guest,” Elliot protested.

“No, you’re not,” Louise said. “You’re family, Little Red.”

Elliot shot a glance at Luke (was this okay?) but he was smiling indulgently.

“Go on,” Luke told him. “We want to get everything opened before the actual guests get here.”

Many gifts had arrived for Rachel, Michael, Louise, and Luke, most of them horrifying weapons. There were only three packages under the tree with Elliot’s name on them, one each from Rachel, Michael, and Louise.

He ignored the gloomy disappointment he felt at not getting a gift from Luke, and tried to focus instead on his relief. He wasn’t going to have to explain why there was nothing from Elliot to Luke. He could forget the whole thing now, if neither of them had done it.

Louise had given him a rather crude woodcut. “Luke said you like mermaids,” she said, indicating a figure in the woodcut that, yes, seemed to have a fish tail.

“This is awesome, Louise, thank you,” Elliot told her. “I think it's going to kill your brother if I try to hang it in our quarters.”

“That could be fun, too,” Louise said, pursing her pretty lips. “Happy Christmas, Red.” She held up the grappling hook he’d given her. “This is going to be dead useful on the expedition next year.”

“You’re welcome.” Inside the next box was a pair of knitted gloves from Michael. Disconcertingly, they were nearly the exact shade of orange as Elliot’s hair. He wondered idly how Michael had pulled that off.

“For your hands,” Luke whispered, touching Elliot’s fingers with his own. “Since they’re always frozen.”

“You did this,” Elliot accused.

Luke shrugged one shoulder with mock indifference, wings fluttering behind him. “Look, Dad made me a scarf you can steal.” It was made of yarn the same blue as the jumper he’d had once, the one that had been destroyed by the unicorn on that terrible day when they’d been fifteen. It went beautifully with his sky blue eyes. Michael really had a wonderful sense of color, Elliot thought.

He hoped Michael knew someone who’d match the ice-white spider silk yarn Elliot had given him.

Rachel’s gift to everyone was the fabled matching outfits. Somehow, they were worse than Elliot had imagined.

Christmas in the Borderlands was not, thankfully, what it was in his old world. There was no tinsel, for instance. The world did not turn red and green in the weeks leading up to the holiday. There was no Father Christmas. Thank god, there was no mistletoe.

So it was possible Rachel Sunborn had just invented the ugly sweater party and the Christmas card all at once.

“Your father helped,” she said, which was either a massive understatement or a colossal overstatement, depending on whether one considered the jumpers a success.

“Mum, how do you expect me to put this on?” Luke asked, exasperated. Clothing made for human measurements had become a thing of his past when the wings had come in.

“There are slits, see,” Rachel said, leaning excitedly to demonstrate. “It was made special for you, pumpkin.”

Elliot snickered.

“Don’t laugh, you’re the pumpkin here,” Luke growled under his breath, tugging one of Elliot’s curls.

It would have been hurtful, except Elliot already knew Luke liked his terrible hair. His terrible hair, his terrible personality, the whole terrible Elliot Schaefer deal. Luke liked all of it.

Elliot fought back the urge to make out with Luke viciously in front of his entire family.

Not that the Sunborns would have been bothered, but Luke would have been, and Elliot tried only to bother Luke in ways that were fun for them both.

“You’re going to look great in this outfit.” Elliot’s voice was morose. “You’re all going to look great, and I’m going to look like a forest fire.”

~

“Come on, don’t dawdle!” Rachel crowed, motioning them over. She had paired her Christmas outfit with the ruby lion necklace Elliot had given her, and looked splendid.

“Why are we doing this outside?” Elliot asked Luke in an undertone, clenching his jaw against chattering teeth.

“Something about the light,” Luke said. “Here.” He pulled his new scarf from around his neck and looped it around Elliot’s, leaving his neck bare above the neck of the yellow jumper Rachel had had made for him.

“You’ll freeze,” Elliot tried to protest, even as he was letting Luke tie the scarf under his chin.

Luke gave him a lopsided smirk. “I’m a little tougher than you are about the cold.”

Elliot looked down at his orange gloves and was forced to conclude that he could not, in good conscience, argue this point.

Rachel fussed with Luke’s hair, which was already perfect. Elliot was glad she hadn’t tried to tackle his. Despite Golden’s tips, it had yet to show signs of becoming manageable. Rachel was not a woman with a good sense of when to quit a lost cause, and if she’d wanted to tidy his hair, they’d have still been standing there next Christmas.

Then inspiration struck.

“I can take the photograph,” Elliot volunteered. He was probably the most accomplished photographer in this world, he realized. Maybe, when war was entirely eradicated, he could build a career for him as the Borderlands’ first underwater documentarian.

But Rachel was frowning. “That’s very sweet, dear,” she said, in a tone that foreshadowed the _but_. “But someone will be along in a minute, and it’s best to let the professionals handle it.” 

“Besides,” Louise said. “You wouldn’t be in the picture, then, and you’re so cute in the outfit.”

Yellow was not Elliot’s color. It was a dreadful color for gingers in general, even before the red embellishments that had been added. He felt like a bizarro world Ronald McDonald. The leather pants might have been okay, without the coins that had been sewn to them for some reason. Elliot feared that when the flash went off, their combined reflections would blind someone.

Naturally, the Sunborns managed to look regal and burnished even in this ridiculous getup. 

The photographer arrived as promised, and although she looked faintly star-struck at the assemblage of beautiful golden warriors, when she looked at Elliot she winced. “You’re so tall, you really oughtn’t be on the edge like that.”

Elliot shook his head. “No, I should be exactly on the edge,” he said, hunching his shoulders and burrowing into Luke’s side. “I belong on the edge.”

The photographer chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Could you switch places, please?”

“You’re _impossible_ ,” Luke griped in Elliot’s ear as he tugged him to the center of the group on Sunborns and placed himself on the end.

“Much better,” the photographer said. “Now, could you hold still?”

It would be easier said than done, given the temperature. At Elliot’s repressed shiver, Luke rolled his eyes and wrapped a wing around Elliot.

“Perfect!” The photographer cheered.

~

Rachel was so pleased with the way they looked that no one had the heart to change clothes before the extended family came for the party that night.

Luke, as usual, planted himself in a corner and observed the party. Elliot, also as usual, stuck close by Luke and the fire, fighting for warmth. He sipped some spiced wine in pursuit of that goal, but not enough to get drunk. He’d need his wits about him, at a Sunborn party. Luke wasn’t drinking at all. He never did.

There wasn’t any such thing as Christmas carols in the Borderlands, which was generally a comfort to Elliot. Most Christmas music was insipid and nauseating. But the minstrels playing yet another raucous dance tune felt wrong somehow.

The firelight flickered across Luke’s perfect, miserable face as he made small talk with some Sunborn cousin Elliot didn’t recognize.

Oh, fuck it.

“Hey, can we step outside for a minute?” Elliot asked in a low voice. “Just you and me?”

Luke swallowed quickly. “Yeah, of course.” His face didn’t get less miserable as Elliot led him into the hall and up the stairs into a small alcove with a window. “Are you okay? I knew you were sick.”

“What are you talking about?” Elliot asked. “I’m fine, but I thought you might need a break.”

“You’re not dancing,” Luke pointed out.

“You’re not dancing either!”

“Yeah, but I don’t dance,” Luke said. “ _You_ do, when you’re having fun. But you’re not. You haven’t had fun this whole trip. You’ve been quiet and weird and you’re always trying to slip away to be by yourself.”

Elliot was right. He did ruin Luke’s Christmas. “I’ve had fun. I love it here. I just…” He exhaled shakily. “Remember the thing I said about running? This is another one of those things I don’t know how to do. Family, holidays, it’s all a little fraught. I wanted you to be able to spend some time with your family without worrying about me.”

Luke crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve been worrying the whole time.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry. I’m not really any good at Christmas, I don’t think.” Elliot pressed his hands into his eyes. He only intended to do it for a moment, but he found it a good respite from looking at Luke’s crestfallen face, so he kept them there.

After a long moment, broken only by the echoes of revelry below, Luke said “Wait.”

Elliot looked up.

“Christmas isn’t over yet.” Luke held a hand out to Elliot. “Come with me. I have something for you.”

Luke led him by the hand back to one of the guest rooms. “I was saving this for when we were alone.” A smile flitted across his face in the torchlight. “We’re alone now.”

They were. Brilliantly alone.

Luke crawled under the bed and retrieved a box. “I had to hide this so you wouldn’t find it. You’re so nosy. I didn’t wrap it or anything.”

Elliot shook his head. “You’re an evil genius, Luke Sunborn.”

Luke made a frustrated noise and shoved the box into Elliot’s hands. “Just open it, would you?”

Elliot’s hands were shaking. It took him two tries to get the box open. “Is that…?”

“A man-oo-rah,” Luke said proudly.

“Menorah,” Elliot corrected absently. “Where’d you even get this?” It was beautiful, gold and silver entwined together to make the candelabra.

“I got some dwarven jewelers to make it,” Luke said. “Do you like it? I thought we could, um… whatever it is you do with them, tonight after the party.”

It almost certainly was not Hanukkah, not that Elliot knew when Hanukkah was, this or any other year. But he didn’t feel like explaining the Jewish calendar to Luke when he was being so thoughtful.

“You light candles in it,” Elliot said, though Luke knew that, he had to. He’d had one _made_.

“There’s more,” Luke said, looking down. “In the box.”

Elliot reached in again and this time his fingers closed on a small music box. When he opened it, the tune it played was suspiciously similar to The Rolling Stones. Paint it Black.

“You like music,” Luke said. “I thought I recognized that one as one you sing, sometimes.”

Elliot nodded. “Yeah. Good ear.” Luke _did_ have good ears. Very nibbleable.

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“Two more,” Luke admitted. “We’re halfway through.”

The next thing was soft. _Very_ soft, and gray-brown.

“It’s, um, it matches your eyes,” Luke said, blushing furiously. “I wanted to make the gloves, actually, but Dad said a scarf was easier when you’re starting out. Do you, um...”

The stitches were uneven, so the scarf was thicker at one end than the other and its texture was a little on the knobbly side.

“I _love_ it,” Elliot breathed. “Are you sure you put another present in here? I think I already have three times the presents I need.”

“Stop talking and get your last present,” Luke laughed.

“You got me a book?” Elliot asked, looking at it. It was nice, even for a Borderlands book, with a gilded cover and a leather strap to keep it safely closed when not in use.

“It’s, uh,” Luke bit his lip. “I hope you like it. I couldn’t tell if it— I mean, you’ve been doing research for months, so you might have this stuff already. But it’s really rare, I had to look a long time to find it.”

“Luke,” Elliot said in a flat voice. “Did you get me a dragon book?”

“It’s a dwarf book, really,” Luke said. “I mean, dragons didn’t write it, sorry to disappoint you.”

“But dwarves and dragons have run into each other in the mines under the mountains,” Elliot said. “And the dwarves wrote a book about dragons. Not killing them. Living with them.” He ran his hands over the cover. “I don’t know the words to tell you how very, very happy you have made me with this.”

Luke brightened. “Really?”

“ _Really_.” These were only his second Christmas presents from a paramour ever, but they were already the best of his life. Elliot turned to kiss him, but remembered halfway through the terrible position he’d put himself in. “Oh, _no_.”

Luke’s grin vanished. “Oh no?”

“Oh, no, this is terrible,” Elliot groaned. “I didn’t get you a present _at all_.”

“Oh,” Luke said. His voice had a strange softness to it. “That’s okay. We didn’t talk about it, you didn’t know.”

“I was going to,” Elliot said. “Golden told me I should. Only, all my ideas were awful, and then we were on our way here. And I was thinking, like, what can I do that’s special, what will Luke like, and I was going to wait for when we were alone and then— but it’s so stupid, you’ve spent all this time getting me the perfect things and I didn’t get you _anything_ , I—”

“Elliot.” Luke interrupted the stream of babble. “What were you going to do when we were alone?”

“I was going to, um,” Elliot swallowed. “I was going to sing. And, uh, dance. For you.”

Luke’s mouth hung open.

Elliot shook his head. “No, forget it, forget this whole thing ever happened. I’ll learn how to bake pies or something, and maybe a month from now we can have a do-over, but until then you should hold onto the book and the music box and—”

“No,” Luke said. “No, I think you should do the other thing.”

“Sing?”

Luke nodded. “Yes, you should definitely do that.”

Elliot had done some preparation for this moment. A very minor amount of preparation. In every stolen moment he could get, for weeks.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to be John Lennon, just for an instant.

“ _So this is Christmas…”_

~

Later, lying in the bed in the guest room, limbs tangled together, the only garment between the two of them Elliot’s new brown scarf, Luke said “So, about those pies…”

Elliot laughed and kissed him.

Luke rested his cheek on Elliot's bare chest. In the light cast by the candles in the menorah, he was as lovely as he'd ever been.

"Want to go back to the party?" Elliot asked.

Luke balked. "God, no."

"I love you, loser."

A smile spread across Luke's face. "I love you too. Happy Christmas."

For the first time, Elliot agreed. It  _was_ a happy Christmas. And with any luck, it was the first of many.

~

The pictures, when Rachel had them printed, were  _horrifying_. Elliot put their copy on the wall of their quarters, right next to Louise's mermaid woodcut.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I plan to have this done in advance of Christmas rather than after? Sure did. Did it happen? Despite my best intentions, it did not. Put it on my gravestone, I guess.
> 
> I considered having Elliot sing All My Little Words by the Magnetic Fields but I couldn't figure out a way to get him to do it, because it's a little obviously vulnerable for him. He'd never be that open. But he definitely listens to that.
> 
> I am very sleepy, and have no idea if this is any good.
> 
> PS Elliot does give Luke a puppy eventually, when they have a more permanent posting. It ends up being mostly Elliot's dog because he's home more, so he gets Luke another one. The dogs love Luke. Who wouldn't.


End file.
